The Manicou Report

*First of all I apologise for not doing very well this week when it came to posting to my blog. I had a very busy week. Thanks to all who sent concerns and then threats (Hottie).

On Sunday night I went to the very last night of Ramleela which is always the best because that’s when they burn the effigy of Rawan and I always appreciate a good blaze. Of course like every other final Ramleela night I have ever been to, it rained like first time. When I say rain, I mean hard rain. So people had to seek out shelter wherever they could. All this time Rawan with his twisty moustache, red shirt, blue pants and evil grin was standing in the middle of the field getting soaked no tail.

Everyone who had something to sell was out there including the doubles man, the saheena/pholourie woman, the sno cone man, and the cotton candy man. There was even a guy out there selling light-up toys that were popular with the children since it was dark.

An old man standing next to me looked at me and said, “Rain, boy, rain!”

“This thing go really burn with all that rain it collect today?” I asked him.

“Yeah man,” he said,”the amount ah thing they does put in that, it ha to bun.”

After the reenacments from the Ramayana were over, and all the kick and cuff from the mock battles were though, it was time for Rawan to meet his doom. Now last year I think we had an equal amount of rain and Rawan still went up in flames quite easily. But this year Rawan wasn’t going down without a fight.

When it was time to light him afire, a group of youths came up and lit a tiny fire on the ground before Rawan. Next a chicken-chest youth of about 18 came up and dipped his arrow (I assumed was soaked in pitch oil) into the fire and got it alight. He stepped back, drew back the arrow, fired, and missed. The next arrow hit Rawan in the arm, but it didn’t stick and it fell off. The third arrow hit Rawan dead in the crotch. His crotch burned for about 15 seconds then extinguished eliciting giggles from the crowd. A barrage of arrows came next. The ones that stuck did absolutely nothing. Rawan was just too drenched this time. Eventually chicken-chest boy got an arrow to lodge in Rawan’s stomach and it got a tiny flame going, but it was obvious it wasn’t going to last.

Someone got the bright idea to bring out a 10-gallon container of liquid onto the scene, the fumes from which confirmed it wasn’t pitch oil but gasoline. Any receptacle they could find they filled with gasoline; be it sweet drink bottle or paint can. Luckily the crowd was about 40-50 feet back from the madness because then they started hurling the open containers at the 60 foot effigy. So bottle flinging, bucket pelting, and people stepping further back. The gas would start escaping from the receptacle as soon as it left the pelters’ hands, hit Rawan’s tiny stomach fire and would create a trail of fire leading back to the pelters’ feet. If you think this sounds like madness, then you would agree with the man who was standing beside me:

“But what trouble? Deez chirren mad? Dat is madness!”

I had to agree with him especially as gasoline appeared to be falling all over the pelters themselves, which couldn’t be good. With every arrow that stuck, the tassa started up a strong celebratory rhythm, but died down each time with the flame.

So 25 minutes after the gas-pelting began, Rawan refused to die gracefully. Part of his arm was gone and, his stomach and crotch were both heavily scared, but he stood strong. And the situation was growing increasingly worse as a large maze of fire streaks had developed at the feet of the pelters.

The boys then decided to slit open Rawan’s legs and place Coke bottles filled with gasoline into the bottom of the effigy. And why not? It wouldn’t have been the craziest thing they did that day. Someone then fetched a ladder and placed it up against Rawan’s stomach while another person scaled up it holding the now half-empty 10 gallon container. Now Mr. Man opened up a hole in the stomach and start to pour gas into the stomach shaking the container so that the gas sprinkled. Mind you, the effigy is still smouldering, eh. All this time the fire services park outside of the compound and them fellas stretching-out atop the appliance, seemingly not too concerned that gasoline was being hurled around like insults on a UNC platform.

So gas pouring and Rawan smouldering. All of a sudden, thing blaze up. Effigy start to bun like somebody press fast forward. And this youth man still high up on the ladder with the gasoline container. Well he drop that in a one and boy, I never see a man descend so fast. Talk ’bout twinkle toes? So he scramble down and somehow managed not to get incinerated, and four or five of them yank away the ladder from the effigy in so doing, the ladder nearly fell on some of the pelters who were smart enough to hang back, but not smart enough to hang way the hell back. And with about 35 minutes elapsing since the first arrow from the chicken-chest youth, Rawan’s upper body was ablaze and the tassa rolled victoriously without ceasing. It did start to die a little though, but just at the right time all the gas poured into the effigy ignited the coke bottles at the bottom and it blazed up again. By this time the crowd collectively stepped back about 5 feet because the heat emanating from the blaze became unbearable.

And with that Rawan crumpled to the ground. Some of the boys decided they wanted to salvage the ropes that kept him erect so four of them tried tugging one of them but Rawan was keeping those and they gave up.

I didn’t wait to see Rawan burn out completely, because we (my friend and I) had to beat the traffic coming out of the site. So we left the scene, I with my inferno lust satisfied for yet another year.

Discussion Questions

Fire Saftey and You: What is your favourite accelerant?

Why would an intelligent human being throw gasoline at an open flame 60 feet above him?

What other mental health issues does your community face?